In the Darkest of Reasons
by CapitolAttendant
Summary: AU-Medieval. "We made eye contact. He didn't break it. This will be my end." Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games
1. Chapter 1

_We made eye contact. He didn't break it. This will be my end._

This morning our village was simple, quiet. The occasional caw of a crow and the break of dawn barely seeping through the seams of the land marked any usual day. But now our peaceful state has been interrupted by a surprise visit that came marching through on horse and carriage.

There they are: the Snow's. They parade through our town like predators, matching each of our loathsome stares with equal verve and surrounded by knights. We all stand at attention in front of our houses, almost as if we are guarding them.

No warning, no call from the herald, nothing – they just came. But the terror they brought along was just as fresh.

There they sit – Coriolanus, Alma, Peeta, Cato – in their robes of satin and lace and selfishness and cruelty.

The Royal Family rolls down the dirt path toward their castle located on the far left corner of the kingdom walls, tucked away behind the miles and miles of starving villagers and grimy roads, away from their responsibilities. They seem to be going extra slow, as if taking time to scan through every inch of the crowd. The air is so silent, it seems stale.

I tighten the clutch I have of Gale's hand, afraid that one of the soldiers accompanying the carriage might decide to attack. It's not like it hasn't happened before. I itch for my bow, longing for the chance to plunge an arrow straight through King Coriolanus' heart. Or head, either one would suffice. Gale responds with more force on his part, practically choking my fingers. The pain is almost reassuring if it weren't for the danger that rolls in front of me.

"It'll be fine," he whispers, barely audible. "Just think of snares."

Snares. Something that will keep my mind from this. Something to distract me.

But it doesn't work. To my right, my younger sister, Prim, is shaking like a leaf. Her beautiful blonde hair is caked in dirt from lack of washing lately (if we were warned about the Roayal Family's appearance in advanced, the we would have made ourselves more presentable along with the rest of the kingdom). But even in her gritty state she is gorgeous. Looking down at my own dark hair and muddy finger, I almost feel self conscious in front of such a high-standing family, but that quickly vanishes when I remember what they did to my father, to Gale's father, to all of us. I stand proud of my gritty, 16-year-old state.

When I look up, that's when it happens: I make eye contact with him. His eyes are a deadly blue, almost as blue as Prim's; his hair as bright as the sun.

Prince Peeta Mellark Snow.

I hold his stare for too long, realized too late the danger of my action. Quickly I avert it to the back of the head of the man in front of me, careful not to look back. I just pray no one saw it, or that he doesn't come back and demand my beheading for daring to connect gazes with the "Merciful Prince of Panem".

It takes only a few minutes for the carriage to haul the him and his family away, and judging by how no one has come to chop off my limbs of skewer me on the spot, I assume he didn't think anything our "exchange", if you could call it that. As soon as they are out of sight, the whole village seems to lose some tension, although some of it still lingers, the threat of death still fresh in the mid-morning air. The chatter starts up not long after

Gale turns to me. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yes." I nod, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. "Let's get Prim inside."

We usher Prim backwards through our door and check on my mother. Luckily, the soldiers didn't decide to make house-rounds this visit or we would have had to watch Mother be dragged from comfort of her sheets and into the road, executed. It wouldn't have hurt me as much as much as it would have destroyed Prim, considering she's the one who left the burden of our mouths to me after falling into her psychotic state caused by my father's death in the battle field.

Prim would have helped with our scarcity of food, but I resisted her insistencies. She's far too fragile for the woods.

Gale and I had just been getting ready to head out for today's hunt, getting a late start, when the Family arrived. He stands in the corner of our two-room shack of a house as I throw on my tunic, boots and belt, not bothering to be modest in front of my best friend. We head out, weaving our way through the still-thriving heat of the crowd, toward the small opening in the Kingdom's wall that allows us freedom into the forest. As we make our way there, I catch bits of peoples' conversations.

"…_battle in Coversell…"_

"_They went to negotiate…"_

"…_scared the living shit outta me!"_

Yes, Coversell would be the one to start a riot. And thank God they did. Maybe this time they might be able to conjure up a rebellion from our villagers. They've tried before, sending in people to rile up our town with hopes of turning us into rebels. We pushed them away out of fear, knowing the consequences of a revolution (such big talk). In response, King Coriolanus and his advisors drafted one man from every household to go and attack Coversell's territory.

That's how I met Gale – we were the only ones willing to revolt. That's also how my father died. But that was four years ago, and I have more important thing to do than dwell on the lost, the past, as does Gale. Like feed a family.

Gale slips through the broken hole in the wall and I soon follow, into the freedom of the forest.

We hunt until late into the afternoon, not really making much talk. I guess we are both still a little frilled from the surprise visit earlier. We don't talk much until we are sitting at our secret spot in the nook of an old rock, splitting up game. From this position you can see the whole valley: the rise and fall of the mountains, the gentle slopes of hills, the shimmering shyness of that of the lake, the roaring, calming rush of the creek. It truly is gorgeous.

"How are you not dead?" He asks out of nowhere. I stare at him, confused.

"Excuse me?"

"Catnip, someone can't simply make eye contact with a royal and not get beheaded in the process, especially not someone like you."

So he noticed. He's right, ofcourse, that you don't make eye contact. My friend Thresh was speared through the chest for such stupidity. I hadn't really thought much of what happened earlier, deciding to just ignore it and thank the Lord for my limbs still being intact. Just assumed no one had noticed and that Prince Peeta Mellark Snow had simply taken what I thought to be certain death as a casual passing of eyes.

So I get defensive. "What do you mean exactly, 'Someone like me'?" I ask, making my surprise clear in my voice.

"Come on, Catnip," Gale compromises, bringing out his nickname for me, "I mean, your ever-present scowl doesn't exactly make you look like a loyal subject, especially to the Family."

He's right. My disgust for the capitol Family of Panem is crystal on my face. Usually I do so well at hiding my emotions, but I guess this one is so strong it breaks the barrier.

"It will be fine, Gale," I reassure him, "I'd be dead by now if he took it as treason."

He nods, dropping the subject. We split the game evenly, but I insist on him taking a bit more considering he has two more hungry mouths at home than I do. Honestly, I have no idea what I would do if I didn't have Gale. We rely on each other, a mutual bond that only we truly understand. Both of us hunt, trade and survive with the other, creating a trust almost impossible to break. At the market, some girls have the courage to approach him and some even flirt, while the others sit back and just admire from a far. It's because of his looks, no doubt. Most of the time I stubble across him and one of those frills doing more than just kissing behind the blacksmith's building. He has a face that could make even Queen Coin swoon if given the chance, but I've never thought of him like that, and he certainly doesn't really give a damn to those girls in the village.

It makes me jealous to think he spends precious time wasting with those average village whores, but not for the reason you would think. It's hard to find a good hunting partner, especially since we're the only ones brave enough to do it in the first place.

We make our way to the Hob, a trading center in an old abandoned mill at the rim of the walls, and trade with a few costumers. They take in about half of our haul in exchange for necessities, and we even pick up new cloth for Prim and Gale's mother, Hazel.

On our way back from the run down Hob, Gale surprises me by suddenly grabbing my hand. I give him a suspicious look, but he avoids my gaze by looking around, checking to see if anyone is around, clearing his throat, and whisking me off the path and behind a nearby house.

Confused by our sudden change in direction, speak up, "What are we doing, it's getting dark." And it is; the sky already a faint navy color. He rests his back against the house's wall and lets out a long, slow breath. The look in his eyes is serious, determined, and a little bit scary.

"Katniss," He says, using my real name. This must be important. He's still holding my hand. "I… I need to tell you something."

"Anything."

"It's about Coversell." Gale looks exhausted, like whatever he's going to tell me is a burden. "They – their soldiers – they came to me. Well, not to me, per se, but I found them. They were wandering outside the Wall a few months ago and I stumbled across their camp."

Coversell? Camp? He's still holding my hand.

"It's amazing, Catnip, their camp. They're just far enough to where the soldiers don't bother to search, but just close enough so they can send in people to the market for supplies. And it's not small – "

I stop him. "Wait. Camp? There are Coversell soldiers staying outside Panem?" I'm breathing heavily now.

"Katniss, they are looking for supporters. For people to help them. We could do it. They want inside ears and eyes to join their rebellion. A rebellion! You and me, we could help. They're trying to take down the Family's rule. Just think, we could finally be free of them, hunt without the threat of death hanging over our heads," He tells me with such enthusiasm, like a little boy who just won his first fight, his steely grey irises beaming with anticipation. We have the same eyes, but I'm sure mine are the complete opposite at this moment.

Mine are sure to be filled with fear.

"Gale, what did you do?" I demand of him. I know what he did, but I need him to tell me. My tone slowly diminishes his up-beat attitude (which is a rare with him).

There is a long pause, long enough to where the candle lights in the surrounding shacks start to flicker away, but he eventually answers.

"I told them I'd join."

I don't register what happens next until the sting in my hand begins to numb and I see Gale hold his face, crouched over the ground in shock and pain. He's let go of my hand, now using it to soothe his cheek. He cranes his head up, looking at me, as he spits on his hand and rubs it on his new wound. I see that I have made an angry red hand print there.

The darkening dusk cannot hide the anger settling in his eyes, although he looks as if he almost expected the wrath of my palm.

I've never hit him before, or he me, but I don't instantly regret it. He's my best friend, but he has no idea the danger of his actions. We're too much alike, our ready-fire-aim persona being identical, but this thing he's suggesting… this is nothing like we've done before. This is practically suicide

"I deserved that," he says monotonously, like it is a fact.

"Gale, you will get yourself killed. If anyone ever found out – "

"You think I care about that, Catnip?"

"You should!"

"Well I don't," He states, "I am helping a cause that could change my life, all of our lives! And I need you to be, too. Think of Prim!"

"Don't bring her into this." I grit through my teeth. "You are making a mistake. And taking a huge risk. If you die, what will happen to your family? Huh? I can't feed all of them, Gale."

This makes him pause, but he sticks with his stubbornness, although his overall expression softens a little. "My family will be fine, and as will yours. Please, Katniss, think of our fathers."

There is yet another anxious pause, Gale waiting for my response.

"I never want to hear anything of this again." I reply, but keep my eyes trained on the ground, unable to face the disappointment that is sure to be in his eyes.

I walk away before he can try to convince me any further.

The sack on my back bumps into my spine as I hurry my way home. Not far now, and the path I follow is as familiar as the air I breathe. I take turns without thinking and step over rocks without consult.

My conversation with Gale still hangs in my mind like a vice, and I can't help but second, guess, my decision. What-if's rack my brain, along with the idea that Gale might have already taken out his disappointment in my choice with some average whore-house girl from the market, but I push them aside, determined to get home and give Prim the new cloth I traded for at the Hob. The image of her giddy face is enough to walk me past the last dirt path separating me from my home and through my front door.

But I am not greeted by my sister's excited face, or my mother's blank stare.

Instead I drop my game-bag to three soldiers pointing a knife to my sister's chest.

"Katniss Everdeen," The middle soldier says. I nod, petrified. "You are here by summoned by the Royal Family. His grace Prince Peeta Mellark Snow is demand your presence."

_We made eye contact. He didn't break it. This will be my end._


	2. Chapter 2

_We made eye contact. He didn't break it. This will be my end._

So he did care. So he did take notice of our "casual passing of eyes" in the street. So I am going to pay for it.

I don't know how long I stood there, shock paralyzing my body, before someone decides to speak up. Prim.

"Katniss," she squeaks. That small sound is enough for me to gather my sense and straighten my back to my family's captors.

"For what reason?" I ask the peacekeepers. You're not supposed to question them, but I feel I need to.

Of the three, the middle one seems to be the most responsive.

"We are not given details, only made to follow orders." He tells me with a monotonous sneer, no tone accompanying his obvious repugnance with a peasant. The others are busy raking my form with their gaze, most likely taking in my male-like attire. They expected me to be in a burlap dress, like my sister the rest of the ladies in the kingdom. I almost scoff at the thought – me in a dress?

"Now," the middle one continues, pushing the knife harder on Prim's sternum, "Are you going to comply, or will we have to make such a lady like yourself agree."

I'm pushing my limits, questioning them. One look at my sister's terrified features makes my answer for me.

I nod, clearing my face of emotion. I will not let them see my fear, my pain, my worry. My mother sits in the fog of her thoughts, as always, only an inch of terror jumping across her eyes. This is a feat, even for her.

Picking up on my agreement to their terms, the main soldier smirks.

"Very well. Two minutes to speak with your family."

I slowly walk to Prim as soon as the knife's point leaves her chest, careful to appear calm. The peacekeepers crouch back out through the doorway and wait outside, clearly visible through our gaping hole that serves as a window (Prim had once said that the room needed more air, and I came home to her and Rory Hawthorne smashing out a hole in our wood with pots and rocks). When I'm positive they are not looking I quickly envelope her in a death grip embrace, surely breaking her fragile ribs. But she hugs me back and buries her face in my neck nonetheless.

It tears me apart that I have to pull away just as quickly as I grabbed her.

"Katniss," she whispers out, tears streaming down her pale skin. I wish I could catch it, her soft, childish voice, and burry it into my pocket for safekeeping. It would nice to have it with me whilst my head is being detached.

I stay kneeled, down at her level, but keep my voice strong and determined.

"Prim, everything is going to be okay," I say as she breaks the brink to sobs, "Find Gale, he'll help you with food. Tell him I won't be back."

I know this last part doesn't help with her case, but even she knows it's true. I will die this evening, or tomorrow evening, or maybe even the next if they bother to keep me around for that long. Gale will know to help her, to take my place. We made this pact about two years ago, that if anything ever happened to one of us, the other would be there to support the other's family, but I highly doubt it would be possible. After all, I just told him an hour ago that I could not feed them all.

I kiss her head, giving her my one last bit of affection, and turn to my mother. Her eyes flit to me, to Prim, back to the wall, before settling on the wood gathered in the corner of our little house. I go over and grab her shoulders, giving her a soft squeeze – all I can manage for the person that made mine and Prim's lives such a struggle – before squaring my shoulders and walking to the door. Walking to my death.

My two minutes is surely up by now, but before I leave I turn around and say my last words to my family, and to Gale's:

"I love you."

* * *

The peacekeepers are awfully hasty with their ride to the castle, and I assume they are just following their orders. The feel of the horse under me's back bone digging into my behind is not pleasant, especially at the speed we're going. I'm forced to ride along with one of the quieter soldiers, my hands tied behind my back, dulling me into immobility. It's a bit unnerving, having one of the men ripping me from my family to be right behind me, his chest to my back, steering a horse. I'm half expecting him to take advantage of his position.

I silently pray thanks to God that that is against the Law of the Kingdom for a peacekeeper in this situation, and would result in his own poverty and banishment for disobeying the law. But as I said, is against it _in this situation_.

The trip is almost over, already I can see many of the light from inside the castle, but not quite. We pass many streets and shacks, a rail-thin dog rummaging through the grass in search of food, a young couple kissing behind a run-down building. For a moment I grieve for it, that connection they seem to have, because I realize that I'll never experience it. Not that I ever cared much for anything romantic, since I had a family to care for, and whenever Gale would bring up having children and getting married to the prettiest woman in the village, I always grimaced away from the topic. But now, seeing the possibility of sharing a kiss with someone behind the slag heap, no matter how whorish it sounds, seems yearned for.

But who on earth would I share it with? Gale? Never. He prefers those frills at the market and easy women that can be picked up nearer to the edge of the walls.

Never the matter, since it will be too late now.

I should have made more talk at the Hob.

I should have made more friends.

I should have told Prim I love her one more time.

My grieving is quickly replaced by my ever-growing fear that throbs in the pits of my chest and stomach.

We arrive at The Family's castle; the moon's light helping illuminate the huge wooden door's entrance along with the torches from other nearby soldiers here to safeguard the castle's inhabitants.

I listen as the most vocal soldier calls for the door to be reeled down, and as it is I try to concentrate on my horse's groomed mane. When our group trots over and through the door and into the enormous corridor, I lose my steadiness on the saddle, nearly toppling off the horse.

To my surprise, it's not the ground that catches my fall, but the peacekeeper's hand, gently and discretely hoisting me back up onto the back of the mammal beneath us. I look at him, red hair and freckles gathering under his helmet, and am startled at how kind he looks. Perhaps he dislikes this just as much as I do.

I give him a slight nod of thanks, hoping he picks up on my gratefulness. By the way he nods back, not once putting our horse at a halt, I assume he does.

I decide to take our slow pace as an opportunity to examine my surroundings; since it's not every day someone can visit the inside of the Royal Castle. But I don't know if mine can really be considered a "visit".

The walls are as high the highest trees in our forest, the tops barely visible through the dim light of the torches that line the walls in perfect uniform. Windows also stand at attention throughout the hallway, and I figure it would be even more beautiful during the day, with sunlight pouring through the panes, scattering the floor.

Multiple corridors branch of the one we are taking toward out right, making me aware that we are in the left wing, and we entered through the left wing's entrance. Torches cover the other hallway's frames as well, which I can only assume burn at night, what with all the windows surrounding the perimeter, there would be no need for the flaming logs during the day time.

The talkative soldier directs all the way down and makes a right, then another right, and then a left, and then so many turns I lose track. Eventually we come to a stop at the most grand doors I have ever seen: its frame covered gold, bejeweled handles, and such rich and dark wood from a tree unknown creates its structure.

And all I can think is that this door alone would feed the entire kingdom for weeks.

Foot-servants help us off our horses– well, help the peacekeepers. I am roughly yanked by my arm and propped up by a man in an almost laughable costume. I never thought so many unnatural colors could be crammed into one piece of attire, not in my wildest fantasies, but this man has proved my conscience wrong. I would poke fun at him, maybe, if it weren't for my impending death. The terror that grips my being is still ripe and present; not dulling as I thought it would now that the initial shock is gone. I thought I would have accepted fate by now.

It's when I am being searched for weapons by two to three servants that realize where I exactly I am. I stand still outside the throne room.

The royal Family is waiting right beside me, only that magnificent, greedy door dividing us apart.

My heart starts to beat faster, gaining pace until I am sure that it is not even following a proper beat, just going by its own erratic emotions.

The two of the three soldiers, along with the servants, exit, leaving me alone with the gentle soldier, both of us facing the great door. I guess I could consider him a friend for the moment, since that's what I am so desperately craving right now.

When it's just us left, I turn on him, ready to question.

"Is this where I'll be sentenced?" I demand of him.

"I don't know," he replies, his voice pitying, "As Seneca said before, we have no knowledge of the details of your predicament."

"… Am I going in there?"

He doesn't reply, just stares at the door just mere feet away from our faces. And that's all of an answer I really need.

I inhale and exhale deeply, trying to calm my nerves, for I see that making eye contact and disrespecting the prince truly was a mistake. But why didn't they just order my death right on the spot?

_Those bastards want to see to your punishment their selves. They want to see you beg. _

My thoughts are right. And if it is a show they want, then it will be the exact opposite they receive. I will show no emotion and keep my face rigid as stone before them, just as I have been doing since they killed my father.

Before the peacekeeper opens the door for us, he grips my arm, and I whisper one last question to him.

"What is your name?"

"Darius."

* * *

The swing and swoosh of the wooden barrier in front of us announce our presence to the Royal court. This room is just as grandeur as the door, magnified by ten. Four humungous windows line the side walls, each giving full view of the dark night sky, and a rich, red velvet carpet lead up to marble step – in fact the whole room is marble – and up the steps sit four thrones, one for each member of the Royal Family. For a moment my attention lacks to focus on the royalty in front of me, but rather at the expense of this room.

But when I finally look up I wish I had not.

The first gaze I meet is the one that got me into this, the one that seems it could freeze over an entire lake with its icy depths: Prince Peeta Mellark Snow.

I keep my face as hard as the marble floors, just as I promised myself, and keep my chin as high as these ceilings.

I go down the row of royals, not bothering to knock the rock stare out of my eyes as I do.

Prince Peeta Mellark Snow on the far left, then King Coriolanus Snow, Queen Alma Coin Snow, and Prince Cato Giddon Snow. I secretly hope that my disgust for these people is more evident than my fear, and that they cannot read my eyes to see either.

The King clears his throat and looks down on me and Darius from his throne, practically smirking. He begins, "Katniss Everdeen. How pleasant of you to visit, My Lady."

I hate him already. This time from a personal angle.

I continue to hold his stare, determined to not be humbled by his unnatural lips and snake-like eyes.

"My son, Peeta, has told me quite of your eyes," Snow continues. At this Cato unsuccessfully hides a snide chuckle. Peeta avoids my gaze and the rest of his family's.

"Hmm. You would think with how fondly vocal Peeta was about her appearance, she would at least look the slightest bit ladylike." The Queen's rotten voice speaks from her throne beside her husband's. Any other woman would most likely be offended by her comment, but I take none. I do not need her approval, especially considering I will be dead within a number of days.

"What is with her apparel?" Cato voices, staring me dead in the eyes, no heed to his antipathy. Evidently my hunting trousers, boots and tunic are not welcome in such a high-end palace.

"If we keep her, she'll certainly need a good primping, and then maybe she will look moderately decent."

Keep me?

"Ah, swell." The King sneers. "Peeta."

Prince Peeta Mellark Snow looks toward his father, blonde hair swiveling slightly at the sudden action, and nods.

"Take it to your corridors, Cinna will be fecthed for her in at sunrise. I'm sure once the Lord is finished with her, she will be more bearable."

I stand in silence and hatred and confusion at this. What is my sentence? Keep me? What on Earth must he mean by "when he is done with her"?

Peeta Mellark Snow stands from his throne and walks down the steps in his royal clothing and crown, all in a stately manner. Many servants rush at him in attention, accompanying him as he passes me and Darius.

"Follow him." Darius whispers and I hesitate for a split second too long. Darius thrust me forward with a little force and I follow the prince out the grand, magnificent throne room and through the grand, magnificent door and into the grand, magnificent hallways of the castle. When Peeta turns around for just a moment and catches my eye, his blue irises looking back at me, I realize it was that same stare that tore me from Prim and Gale.

I scowl at his gaze, encouraging him to turn back around and when he does, my heart beats even harder and even faster. I hate him.

I am positive that the dungeons would have been a better alternative than this.

_We made eye contact. He didn't break it. This will be my end._


	3. Chapter 3

**Is anyone else absolutely fucking furious about Yahoo! Taking over Tumblr?! Because that basically ruined my entire week. Speaking of that glorious website, don't forget to follow my new blog 'maysileesdart'.**

* * *

_We made eye contact. He didn't break it. This will be my end._

His rooms were huge – windowed on some walls, rich fabric blanketing the entire surface, and the ceilings just as high as the ones in the halls right outside the door – and they all seemed to be connected, no doors to block any quarter from another. It was as if a huge current of air could tangle through the entire corridor and never get knotted between passage ways. When our party finally reached his sector of castle, we walked in the doors only to be met with a web of rooms as wide as the all the shacks of the peasants combined, some rooms requiring steps to get to the main landing floor.

I continued to train my gaze on the marble beneath my feet, determined not to look up at the blonde figure before me who tends to walk with a slight limp.

Prince Peeta Mellark Snow dismisses the servants that followed us when we step into the main sitting room.

"You are dismissed," he tells them, and I am surprised at how much his voice resembles that of silk. Not like Gale's, whose vocals always reminded me of hard cut stone or his own calloused fingers.

The Prince turns to me when they are out his door, which is not as magnificent as the throne room's.

But what, exactly, are you to say to the Prince of Panem? It isn't just as simple as small talk about the weather, or complimenting his rich wear. So we just stand and stare at each other, me finally bringing the courage to look him dead in the eyes. This goes on for moments, but it seems as if hours.

What is he thinking? I half expect him to lash out on me for our "incident" in the streets, and I remind myself to not fight back if he does, remembering that me retaliation would only result in earlier execution. But perhaps that would be better, wouldn't it?

I bore my sight into those icy pools, not willing to be the first to look away, to show my weakness, but I find that there is no bitterness in his expression. He almost seems… _pitiful?_

This only makes my blood boil more. How dare he pity me, when we both know he is the one who caused all this?!

We are quite for a split second more, until he breaks it with a long, heaving sigh.

"Umm… my servants, they will bathe you tonight, in case you were curious." He looks down, in what I can only assume is embarrassment.

Bath? Why would they bathe me before an execution. But nevertheless I nod, not wanting this conversation to continue, but my wishes never get granted it seems.

"And you will be given a new wardrobe, as well, along other supplies for your convenience here at the castle."

Questions are starting to pile high in my mind, but I keep my lips sealed. Anyways, my anger doesn't quell the longer he talks.

"I know you are probably very upset, but –"

That does it.

"Upset? You just took me from my family. You expect me to be upset?"

"I understand, but – "

"And how did you know to come to my house?" My blood is boiling but I try to keep my voice at an appropriate volume, to which I fail. I know I might be risking my life questioning him, but I cannot find it in me to really care.

"Katniss – "

"For Panem sake, we only looked at each other! And Prim –"

"I'm sorry!" He yells. This stops me short. Sorry? He's the prince of Panem. He does not apologize.

I scowl at him in confusion. He looks back at me with sincere regret in his eyes, but I remind myself not to get fooled.

"Please, Katniss Everdeen. Hear me out. My brother, Cato, he saw us look at each other during the ride back to castle. When we arrived, he pestered me about it and brought it up during the family meal. My father, he demanded you be sent here to me. I honestly meant no harm. I tried to deny him, but that is not exactly a very clever idea, if you have any brains at all."

I stare at him. He seems tired and somewhat discouraged. But this doesn't make sense.

"Then why? Why are you planning to pamper me before my execution?" I ask. I'm not hiding my spitting suspicious or my spiteful attitude.

At this the prince takes a step back.

"E-execution?" He repeats, seeming affronted, yet I don't miss the slight twinge of amusement that flashes across his face passes before he speaks again.

"My Lady, I don't think you understand. You are not here to be executed or punished. I wasn't offended at all about our looking in the streets, not at all," his face has taken on a softer look by now, which I recoil at. I do not like how he looks at me, or how it makes the pit of my stomach flop in an instant.

By now I have caught on. He does not have to continue, I already know what he is going to say.

"You are here," he continues, this time a blush consumes his face, "to be my wife."

* * *

I was 11 years old. We had just given up hope on my father ever coming back and my mother was already started to slip into insanity. Gale and I had not met, but I had an amount of other friends. I was out, tending our so-called "garden" (small patch of dirt and sprouts, 2 by 3 feet square) that hugs right on the rim of our shack. I was relentless, always insisting that Father was just taking his time coming home, or perhaps hurt his foot and had to rest at an inn for a while.

But I would never result in the thought of his death.

It was not until an official peacekeeper from the Kingdom by the name of Peter Cray started making rounds through the village that my enthusiastic hope started to wane. He traveled from house to house boring the heart-wrenching news of deaths of fathers, brothers, nephews. The fear that he would one day step through our door and tell us officially that Mr. Everdeen was deceased would not leave my mind, no matter how optimistic Prim and I tried to remain.

My mother, however, would just penetrate our hopeful states with her tragic breakdowns where she screamed and swore he was never coming back and that we were stupid for thinking he was going to in the first place.

_He would not abandon us_, I would think, _he promised he would come back_.

Peacekeeper Cray's bout seemed to expanse across the whole kingdom. He visited Thresh, Madge, Cecilia, Twill, Rue – fragile, innocent, and charming little Rue, who would never harm a fly – all got crushed and burdened with the news of their lost.

And when cold finger rapped on door with terrifying, sharp bites, I was reluctant to answer. Mother sat in the corner as Cray spouted out monotonous reasons and sham apologies, not even noticing our demolished hopes and helpless sobs. He walked away with uniform steps, onto the next heartbreak.

Prim and I cried together, away from our mother. I refused to look at her.

For weeks we scraped by with our leftover food and I eventually resulted in scavenging the streets for food – an alley scum. I was kicked to the side and denied help so many times Prim and I ended up eating raw grass that we managed from our garden patch. It was bitter and distasteful, but it got us along for a few more days.

Winter was almost over and by now Mother was a complete vacant. One day I was foraging the edge walls for food, perhaps a rotten potato or a different type of weed I could try to boil for dinner. Anything to feed Prim, whose cheeks were far beyond sunken.

I had strayed pretty far from the village, treading my way more towards the far corner of the walls. I made sure to keep my distance from the whore house that was tucked away in the crease of the corner, fearful that would be snatched up and sold somewhere far off. Not that I would care about leaving this god awful place, but I could never leave Prim here.

I noticed it, far away from any shack or stand or civil establishment, a miniature hole smashed in the floor-bottom of the brick wall, just big enough for me to shimmy under. I quickly looked around, nervous that someone saw me or would come over and attempt to patch up that small escape to freedom. My heart rate quickened with my pulse and I anxiously took a step toward the gap. My hands fiddled with the frayed ends of my braid that stayed knotted to my hair at all times, but it was then or never. Before anyone could stop me, I dropped to my stomach and slid myself under the wall.

My first look at the outside world was breathtaking. The sounds of the bird calls were somehow different than when you would hear them from inside the walls, more voluminous with gratis.

I stepped further into the vast greatness of the forest with a blossom of hope rooting itself in my stomach, my hunger pains long forgotten.

A mockingjay, gleaming with its glossy golden coat, perched itself on a nearby branch, boasting its chest with the pride of his sanctuary. Mockingjays were always Father's favorite bird; they would never pass up the opportunity to duplicate his beautiful voice without fail, even from inside the walls.

As I traveled deeper and deeper into the woods, the exquisiteness of it overwhelmed me, but the thought that possible food was not far away quickly erased its attractiveness with my raging hunger.

I ran around ravenously, even the likeness of the grass was appetizing; the farther I ran, the faster I became. I was beginning to become determined to live off these woods, run away and never come back, just become a forest kid and leap from tree to tree with no more hunger or worries or insane, demeaning mothers. These day dreams flooded my mind and quickened my pace until my lungs screamed.

And I sprinted right into a lake.

Water drowned my vision and I forced my eyes open under surface. A school of _fish_ swam around me in unison, bubbling up the surrounding liquid. _Fish! _Oh, how I wished to bring Prim here, show her the possibility that was my newly discovered forest. When I felt myself running out of oxygen I pushed off the shallow bottom of the lake and gasped for air. The sun was blinding in the sky and the trees' green color was almost petrifying. I swam around, desperate for the hugging shore, and pulled myself onto land.

I looked around for something for someplace to dry in the sun, but instead my sights landed on a lone apple hanging in a on a branch. I could not get my legs to move fast enough, aching for the taste of that wondrous fruit.

I stopped at the trunk of the apple tree and looked up through the wooden arms to the apple. Propping myself onto a knot in the roots, I pushed up and stretched my arm in reach for the red-skinned refuge from my aching stomach.

But I couldn't reach. And that apple was my undoing.

I lost it when I my attempts to climb the tree failed due to my inexperience and weak limbs. So I sat in the grass and weeds and sobbed. I was going to die, Prim was going to die, and Mother wasn't even going to be sane enough to miss us. I probably would never get the courage to come back out to this paradise, or if I did, someone would have already patched up that hole and I would have lost my opportunity.

When I heard his laugh, I tensed in my fetal position in the grass. Horrifying thoughts seemed to jump from the lake like fish and swim for refuge in my mind. I am not alone, I am going to get killed or worse dragged back to Panem. _I don't want to go back._

But when a curly blonde head peeked out from behind a near tree, my thoughts fled to defense. I figured I could easily get a few strikes in and flee if a fight occurred, but his grin did not seem exactly intimidating.

I stood up quickly, wiping away my tears with my shirt sleeve. He seemed to be about my age, but his luxurious clothing summed that he was from a family much, much higher than mine. But what would someone of high-stature be doing roaming the forest?

His attire had instantly made me self-conscious of my ratty tunic and trousers that were meant to be worn by a boy. I crossed my arms and straightened my back.

The boy did not seem to notice my withering confidence, but instead kept an easy smile painted on his face.

"You fell in the lake," he laughed, leaning back in hilarity.

"So?" I retorted defensively. "Be quiet."

But the boy did not stop chuckling, and eventually his infectious smile spread its way to my cheeks. Soon we were laughing together, me still soaking wet (which only made him laugh harder).

"In a bit of a rush, I figure?" he giggled. It was meant to be a harmless question, a gesture of conversation, but still my smile faded just a bit with the words.

"I guess you could say that."

The boy did not pick up on my dwindle in fervor, but instead looked up at the tree I was sat under. When his eyes found the apple, he asked, "Is that what you were trying to reach before? That apple?"

I nodded shyly, embarrassed by my failure, but he just shook his head good-naturedly, propped himself up on the root I was sat at, and easily plucked the fruit from its resting place on the branch. His height difference that overlooked mine made it where he didn't have to reach as far with as much trouble as I had.

He handed it to me meekly, a blush budding on his neck and ears. "Here you go, Miss."

I gingerly took it from him, wonder spreading on my face almost as bad as his blush had his.

"Th-thank you," I managed. When I looked up, I noticed for the first time his blue eyes but quickly averted my gaze, stuffing the apple into my sleeve.

And then I ran. Away from him, away from the lake, away from the forest. But that did not stop me from going back the next day, or the next, or the next. Each day I would find some new way to forage food and stay alive, but I never found the boy again.

A few days later I met Gale and after almost chopping each others' heads off we became friends. Turned out his father died as well in the battle against Coversell, and with my father's bows we became an inseparable team.

But I never forgot that boy by the lake, or the hope he handed over along with that apple.

_We made eye contact. He didn't break it. This will be my end._


End file.
